Love, Sex, and Gotham City
by Glitter And Goth
Summary: "Joker would kill me slowly for the hell of it. The men had a job to do, but I had cost them a lot. They'd take their revenge ..." And just when Izzy thought her life was back to normal, she meets the Joker.JokerxOC nofluff ratedT for violence   language
1. Shit

My feet pounded on the pavement. I could hear the footsteps behind me, nearly on top of me. Gotham would be a great place to hide. Its huge, you'll get lost in it instantly.

Bullshit.

The footsteps of my pursuers grew louder and more insistent. Shit, shit, shit … Four years at Langley and this was how it was going to end … in a dark alleyway being chased by faceless pursuers. Shit. I no longer had any idea where I was, not that it mattered anyways. The dark, damp alleyways were beginning to look identical.

"Wha_t_ were you _thinking_ …." I heard a voice growl round the corner. It was dark, sinister, but it was someone else. They wouldn't kill me with witnesses. They wanted a smooth assassination … things had gone wrong from the start. It was in that moment I thanked whatever Gods had given me my sense of balance, or lack thereof. Blood was still running down my cheek, the bullet hadn't landed near my heart, but it had caused some undesirable damage.

I skidded around the corner, nearly slipping to the ground in a puddle of grease. It took me all of three seconds to analyze the situation. A large van was parked next to me, hiding me from the two people on the other side. I spared a glance at the two men and it was obvious they weren't going to save me. One man was on the floor, bleeding profusely from his ear … or what used to be his ear. The small, round object told me it was no longer connected to his head. He was whimpering uncontrollably, begging for mercy. The man above him cackled and growled something in return. His purple coat furrowed around him and the green tinge of his hair was barely visible in the streetlamps. Again the man in purple growled at the earless man, he cringed away yet again. In a sudden flash of movement and screams, blood splattered against the wall. The smell was overpowering and the grisly pattern made it even worse.

Shit. Shit. Shit. And to think just an hour ago I had been cursing about losing at poker … I watched the Joker stand up and admire his handywork. The man's head was hanging grotesquely, not quite decapitated. The slit along his neck stretched and made me wince just looking at it. In that moment, the blood trickling down my cheek and staining my shirt didn't seem so bad.

_You'll end up with the man if you don't do something, and quick._ My mind chastised me for hesitating. The Joker was already standing up, preparing to get back in the car. _Me first._ I thought. The car door was unlocked – why wouldn't it be? He had been less than ten feet away from it the entire time. I opened the door and scrambled inside of it. Shit. Luck was going the other way for me. No keys. I may be good at my job but I had never hotwired a car … ever. My hands shook as I locked the door. That wasn't going to stop the Joker for long, but it worked temporarily.

In the brief moments of panic I had forgotten about my pursuers. They had caught up easily and I could hear their shouts and footsteps from inside the van.

The Joker approached the van coolly. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either way I was dead. He pressed his face up against the glass, a cold smirk plastered on his face. I shuddered and began inching toward the passenger side. The Joker smirked, he was toying with me.

The men pursuing me came up on the other side of the van. Who to choose. Neither option was pleasant. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Joker would kill me slowly for the hell of it. The men had a job to do, but I had cost them a lot. They'd take their revenge, I could hear them shouting about it. Pissed off little fuckers.

Once my breathing was under control I opened my eyes. No Joker, but the men were still on the other side. They weren't paying attention to me though. They jeers and threats had turned into screams. Blood splattered the side of the window and I new what was happening … the Joker had turned on the,.

I was next.

Tears stung my eyes and I reached for the drivers side door. "No_t_ so fast, dolly." The voice sent chills down my spine. I stood face to face with the Joker. Fear paralyzed me, my heart even halted its beats. His teeth bared at me in a sick grin. He was so close, I could tell every bump in his scars, every fault in his makeup. The blood loss from the injury in my cheek and exhaustion began to take over me. "Shit," I muttered, forcing the world to stop spinning.

"Let's, ah, let's go for a little _joyride._ Shall we?" His hands twirled his bloody switchblade in his hand. For a second I tried to run, but it didn't work, his hand gripped my chin painfully. His grimy nails dug into the open wound on my cheek. I cried out. "Now, now, _dolly_, I'm not going to hur_t_ ya … not _yet_." Like I really was a ragdoll he slammed me back into the car. The blow to my head against the dashboard was the last straw on my psyche and I gave in to the blackness.


	2. Death Would Be Easier

**A/N: A little bit longer, shorter than I would have liked, but longer, nonetheless. Read and review, please!**

Ouch. There is no other way to describe the pounding migraine after being forcibly knocked out. It pulses, it pounds. I pressed my hand against my cheek, feeling the badly done stitches. I'm alive, but why? Fighting the waves of nausea at the action, I sat up. The room was carpeted, but that didn't say much. The generic gray carpet could have been hard wood flooring. The room was barely big enough for me to lie down scrunched up in. The starch white walls were lined with shelves and there was a gruesome bloodstain on the floor.

It was a closet … closets don't have locks … normally. I shot up and was instantly rewarded by another wave of nausea … lovely … I supported myself on the wall for a moment. Okay, deep breath in. The world returned to its proper position and I moved forward.

The lock turned with ease and my tension rose. Memories from earlier flashed through my head. The Joker … the man's ear … the shooting … I took another deep breath and pushed forward.

"Well," I cringed at the voice. The Joker was sitting on a couch, facing almost directly toward the closet. The room was by no means large, but it wasn't small either. The couch was in relative good shape and was turned to face a TV mounted in the far corner. Behind the couch was a small, plain bed and a door. I glued my eyes to it. "Dolly _finally_ decided, ah, decided to wake u_p_." The Joker grinned at me and patted the seat. "Po_p_ a squat." I hesitated for a fraction more of a second, searching for a means of escape. Windows? We were in a basement apparently; the window was high and looked out to a brown grass patch. Doors? Just the one … Joker had strategically placed himself in between it and me. The Joker sat on the couch, surprisingly patient. One hand was draped lazily over the couch, seemingly lax. The other fingered the handle of his switchblade. He was lounging, but I could see the tension in his legs. I ran, he sprung. End of story.

With a sigh of resignation I sat down on the couch, as far away as possible – practically on the arm of the couch. The Joker gave me a smile and returned to the TV. He was completely enraptured in the TV, it was some news program. They were talking about a press conference with pictures of Commissioner Gordon and other police officers. With him distracted, I began judging distances. The couch wasn't too high, it would be simple to throw myself over it and bolt for the door. But my stomach still refused to let me have peace. Not only were waves of nausea beginning to overtake me, but it was now attempted to eat itself. Not. Good.

I took a breath to steady my whining stomach and launched myself over the couch. It would have been pretty cool too, if I had made it. As if he was expecting this response, the Joker reached out and snatched my ankle. My head slammed against the arm of the chair, adding more damage to what was probably already a pretty bad concussion. "Damn it …" I shouted as he dragged my flailing body closer to him.

The Joker leaned over me, pushing his knee into the lower portion of my stomach. He kept his forearm across my chest, constricting my breathing. "Lis_ten_ here, dolly, I've kep_t_ you alive this long," he paused and glared down at me. His teeth were filthy and his breath reflected that. If this were any other person I would have commented on it. But the Joker was already pulling out his switchblade. "Now, ah, let's not _piss _me off … shall we?" The knife ran down my cheek lightly, drawing blood at some points. Pain shot through my cheek as he ran it in between my stitches.

"Why?" I croaked from underneath his arm. Keep calm … stay calm.

"'_Why?'_" he mimicked, flicking the knife to leave a deep cut underneath my lip. "Do you, ah, _want_ to die? Tha_t_ can be arranged." He moved the knife down to my throat, dangerously poking at my jugular.

"N-no!" I cried out, my pulse quickened, pushing into the knife that he held to my neck.

"Why no_t_?" With that he sat up, pulling me up with him in the same motion. The Joker dragged me as close to him as I could get without sitting on his lap. His arm curled around my shoulders. I tried to shift, put some space between us, but his hand curled and dug his fingers into my arm. "Wat_ch_." He pointed to the TV with the knife.

With a sigh of resignation I looked at the news program. My heart stopped.

There was my dad, in full uniform. There were golden badges gleaming on his chest, a single gold bar told me he had been promoted since last I'd seen him. He looked grim … at least grimmer than normal. There was a bit more gray in his salt and pepper hair and deep heavy bags underneath his brown eyes. Pain and worry were etched into every single wrinkle on his face. My dad began his plea, "We don't know who you are. We don't know what you want. What we do know is that we need the safe return of my daughter. I am personally putting out a five thousand dollar reward to anyone who can give the Gotham City police any information involving the kidnapping of Isabella Lowell. To the kidnapper: I have money, I have power … I will do _anything_ for the safe return of my daughter … please." Even in the camera you could catch the faint sparkle of tears in my dad's eyes.

"Don't cry," I breathed out. My dad never cries. He just doesn't.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." I couldn't look at the TV anymore. The reality of situation hit me like a train. I was kidnapped … by the Joker … but no one knew. I could be dead … a few more days, and I might as well be.

**A/N: and the plot thickens xD Any criticisms on the Joker's accent would be nice. I'm on the fence with it. Love you guys 3**


	3. Why So Serious?

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Life :/ Thanks so much for reading thus far and enjoy! **

"Why so _serious_?" the Joker's giggling voice grated on my every nerve. Why so serious? Did he really have the nerve to ask me that? My dad …

"Fuck. You." The manic giggles scratched through my ever consciousness. The news caster had already moved onto another topic. A paraplegic bunny to be exact. I didn't know whether to be insulted or awestruck. Was I that unimportant to be shadowed by a bunny? Or was kidnapping, murder and crime just _that _common in Gotham city? The bunny was cute … "What do you want?" His greasy nails dug into my arm as he watched the poor bunny scuttle in a little cart and he messed with the handle of his knife. That damned knife – as long as he had it out I kept an eye on it.

"Where'_d _you get the, ah, scars?" I flinched as he tapped my wrists with the knife, completely ignoring my question. The scars were vertical and nasty. They had been stitched by hand and the scar tissue was rough and sensitive to prove it. I did my best to pull down my sleeves and hide them. Too many awkward questions – like right now. My fingers played with the ugly scar tissue.

_There had to be something against this in the Geneva Convention. Did I even fall under that? I wasn't technically with the CIA as of now. Completely alone. I hadn't known the feeling until now. I pulled at the cuffs a little, wincing at the shot of pain that shot through my arms as the wire prodded my artery. One wrong movement and I'd be dead – bleeding slowly to death in some moldy basement … alone. "Langley knows I'm here!" Lies – lies called to anyone that would listen … the camera twitched a little at the jerk of my head. "They're already working on an extraction and this will all be over!" Fuck. Pain shot through my arms again. _

_I screamed as two *"silenced" gunshots whizzed by my head. "Will you shut up already?" Andy leaned against the doorframe with a pistol, adjusting the muffler. In my opinion, he looked more like a gangster than a covert operative.. He twisted the gun sideways and shot once more at the camera. Satisfied the camera wasn't recording anymore, he pulled down the handkerchief that covered the lower half of his face."_

"_What …"was this some hallucination? Had I lost that much blood?_

"_Kinsley was having a hissy fit over you," that was the only explanation he offered. I was still in shock. They actually did still care about me. Amazing … Andy rushed over to my spot in the hard metal chair. "Shit." He examined the razor wire. "Fucking assholes …" After a few moments he met my gaze, "This is going to hurt like a bitch …"_

"_What? Didn't you bring wire cutters?" I made an attempt to pull my hands as far away from possible, but was only rewarded with another burst of pain. _

"_Bit down on this," he pulled off his belt and slipped it into my quivering mouth. Tears stung the open wounds on my cheeks. He messed with the wire a bit, pulling the bottom away from any major arteries. The pain that shot through my hands was unbearable as the wires dug into the top of my hand, but that was only the start. "Okay, pull." I hesitated for a fraction of a second. My screams muffled into the belt and pain tore through my hands. If not for the belt my tongue would have been on the floor with Andy – I had aimed a good kick to his gut in my pain. _

_Blood poured down my wrist, and the pain hadn't stopped after even after the wires were removed. A couple gunshots rang from upstairs over my muffled apologies. "Ignore them," Andy grunted out, recovering quickly."One more time …" This time he maneuvered himself out of the range of my feet. "One … two … three …"_

"Probably the same place you got yours," The Joker dug a nail into the raised scar tissue, earning a hiss from me. I tried to jerk my hand back, but couldn't. His leather hand gripped mine and the knife twitched a little bit.

"And … _where _exactly do you thin_k_ I, ah, got my _scars_?" I felt my lips twitch a little. It was a better response than I was expecting. And a smart one at that. The hand digging into my shoulder and the knife pressed into the back of my hand was a lot better than him pinning me down to the couch again.

"I don't know," I managed as much of a shrug as I could and eyed the news again. They were talking about a drug recall, apparently the Scarecrow had poisoned part of a shipment. "Pissed off the wrong people?" The blade twitched against my hand again … was I right? Again it brushed against my hand, following the jagged lines of scar tissue. Slowly an escape plan formed in my head.

"Is tha_t _what happened to you?" His dark eyes captured mine. He was pushing, trying to get the story out of me. The man was smarter than I gave him credit for, and I already gave him a lot of credit. I turned my hand palm up slowly, letting my fingers brush his leather covered ones.

"You don't like it when people ask about your scars, do you?" My fingers traced numb circles on his palm, particularly around his thumb. The pressure point made his hand relax, if ever slightly.

"I'm, ah, _not _asking about _me_," his voice was rough, serious. The dark brown orbs bore into mine His hand loosened just a little more.

Several things happened at once. I felt my hand close around the blade at the same time that he pushed me, yet again, onto the back of the couch. The blade never made it securely into my hands, instead, it ricocheted across the room, landing somewhere behind me. Without his knife pressed against me, it was a lot easier to maneuver. I brought my knee up, the grunt and manic giggle told me I had made my mark. One arm remained my face, protecting it and my neck. The other battled with the Joker's face. My hand fought off the purple gloves the best I could. Another aimed kick to his groin loosened all of his defenses.

I shot over the top of the couch; landing unceremoniously sprawled on the ground. My back hurt and my wrists hurt but I shot up. The Joker was had already recovered and was stalking towards me. When I reached the door my blood ran cold.

Locked. Of course the door was fucking locked. I didn't notice the shiny padlock in my original assessment of the room. _That_ would have been smart. "Ni_ce _try, dolly …" There was a glint of silver in the corner of my eye. The knife. How the hell did I forget about the knife? I felt like an idiot. His voice was close … closer than I wanted it to be. But it wasn't close to the knife, yet

Abandoning the nearly unbreakable padlock, I dived for the knife … and landed at the Joker's feet. The knife had been removed from my reach the moment I dived. The scream that rang through the room wasn't mine. It couldn't have been, but it was. The scream was mine. The fear was mine.

I scuttled on my back as far from him as possible before turning over. I took a few steps on my hands and knees and then stood up, tripping and landing on the bed. "_Where _exactly … do you, ah, do you _think _you're going to run to, _dolly_." I don't know what disturbed me more. The Joker stalking toward me with a knife or how calmly he spoke to me. Like we were discussing reality TV shows.

I made a dive off the bed, but I was stopped by the Joker. The man moved with inhuman speed, I swear on my life. He held my arms in both of his hands and pushed me back down onto the bed. This time he placed his legs in between mine. "No, ah, _chea__**p**_shots this time."I wriggled as much as he allotted me to, but he pressed more weight onto me. His elbows pressed into my chest and his hands kept my wrists by my head. The more I tried to get free the harder he pushed onto my chest. My head was still pounding from my earlier migraine and I felt the dizziness set in. The Joker dragged his knee up so it was pressing against my stomach. My screams and protests turned into dry heaves as my stomach attempted to puke itself out. "Why _so _serious?" My vision blurred and I could hear my ribs cracking under his pressure. A little bit harder and I gave into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

**A/N: Fifty points if anybody knows the movie I got the idea for her scars from! I'm pretty fucking twisted, but not that much. Clue: it has nothing to do with this story. At all. I figured the Joker would be curious about scars that are just as interesting as his. Review, fave, put the story on alert … Love you all!**

***anyone that has ever shot a gun with a muffler or heard a silenced gunshot, know that the term silenced is a long shot. It doesn't break your eardrums, but still …**


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